


cause you’re a sky, a sky full of stars, such a heavenly view

by queenhomeslice



Series: Promptober 2020 [19]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Balls/Galas, Erections, First Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Photographer Prompto Argentum, Promnis - Freeform, Promptober 2020, prompto gets dressed up and ignis can’t handle it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27085564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: Prompto’s the photographer for a royal gala, and has to look the part.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Series: Promptober 2020 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937668
Comments: 14
Kudos: 77





	cause you’re a sky, a sky full of stars, such a heavenly view

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Square Enix or any production studios behind the Final Fantasy franchise or Final Fantasy XV; I am not making money from this work and I do not own the rights to FF in any way.
> 
> ————  
> Promptober Day 18: Stars
> 
> Fic title from Coldplay’s “A Sky Full of Stars”

Prompto sighs as he stares into the mirror at his reflection, pressed into the tightest fitted suit he’d ever worn in his life. He’s so nervous about this royal gala tonight, he’s shaking. Even though he’s the official photographer for the event, he’d hoped he could get away with wearing something “artsy” like his black skinny jeans and maybe a black turtleneck with a special badge around his neck—y'know, fade into the background like the nobody he is. But Noctis said he’d look good in a suit, and Ignis had fussed about and pulled him into an (incredibly expensive) tailor’s, and Prompto’s not the type to argue with literal royalty or nobility.

At least he put his foot down on Noctis sending a car to his house to drive him to the Citadel. Prompto can take the bus, thanks! He fiddles with the gold star-shaped buttons on the cuff of the royal blue satin jacket and makes up his mind—there's no way he can keep this. He’s returning it tomorrow, and giving Iggy back his money. There’s _no way_ he could ever have something this nice just collecting dust in the back of his tiny closet. The suit is probably worth more than his life, more yen than he’d ever see in his poor commoner lifespan. It’s nice—elegant, extravagant, and the pants make his ass look awesome—but Prompto just _knows_ he’s gonna look out of place in the Citadel. Ugh. He'd really wanted to blend in, but he has trouble telling Noctis and Ignis “no.” _Especially_ Ignis. 

The theme of the gala is “celestial,” hence the star buttons on the suit jacket. The skinny blue tie is also littered with tiny, shimmery gold stars. There’s a gold pocket square in the left breast pocket to compliment the tie’s pattern—and Prompto even has a starry headpiece to fit into his hair. He’s been trying out a new hairstyle—poofing it up and leaving the sides and back long and choppy. He’s gotten pretty good at cutting his own hair, he thinks—saves money, one less thing he’s gotta bug his hardworking—yet absent—parents about. He grabs the heavy gold star headpiece thing and fixes it in his hair, the final piece. Prompto’s wearing gold eyeliner and had even dusted some body glitter into his hair and along the line of freckles on his face. If the guys want him to do this, he at least wants to do it right. He digs his phone from the back of his fitted slacks and snaps a selfie, throwing it in the group chat before making sure he’s got his camera bag, a backup battery and three extra memory cards. Prompto grabs his wallet and keys and locks up his house, rounding the block to the neighborhood bus stop.

As he expected, the hundreds of nobles and foreign dignitaries are dressed to the nines in some of the most ridiculous and dramatic outfits he’s ever seen. There’s more than a handful of people dressed like all six Astrals, and he sees several hats that resemble the entire solar system, like the styrofoam models he used to make for art class in school. There are tasteful gowns and suits more in the vein of what he’s wearing, star and moon patterns and galaxies; but the over-the-top costumes are at least enough to keep him from boredom. He hands the silver-plated metal invitation to the attendant at the door, who nods at him and grants him entrance. Once Prompto’s inside, he secures his camera bag across his chest and digs out his Lokton, turning it on and getting to work.

He gets lost in moving around the edges of the grand, opulent ballroom, dodging heiresses, taking pictures, biting his tongue when someone snaps “Boy, take our picture!” He does as he’s told under the heat of the crystal chandeliers. He hasn’t even seen anyone he knows, yet—he's sure that wherever Noctis is, Gladio’s no more than two inches away. Ignis could be _anywhere_ , maybe schmoozing or securing some sort of political deal on behalf of the crown. Prompto wouldn’t know. A couple of the glaives standing guard by the columns near the balcony nod to him, and Prompto waves like a dork, thankful for the friendly faces.

______

“Oh, look, I see someone taking photographs—how quaint! Dear, we should go get our picture taken. I want to make front page of the _Times_ like last year.”

Ignis turns from the low-level politician he’s been chatting up for the last fifteen minutes, following the eyeline of his wife, and the vision just mere feet away makes Ignis forget what he was even talking about. They hadn’t had Prompto’s size suit at his preferred downtown shop when he’d taken Prompto for a fitting two months ago, so he’d ordered it once they had the younger man’s measurements, instructing Prompto when to return for the actual suit he needed. He’d largely washed his hands of the situation, trusting Prompto to handle his own clothing affairs without him.

Which means that Ignis hadn’t _actually_ seen the suit in person...until now. He grips his champagne glass with an incredible sense of self-control as the older man murmurs his exit, giving a short bow to Ignis as his wife pulls him in the direction of the royal blue vision. Ignis just looks on helplessly—he can hear Prompto’s good-natured laugh as they approach him, his respectful _yes sir and yes ma’am_ , and Ignis watches Prompto’s body language that tells the trained eye that Prompto’d rather be eating a bowl of rusty nails than be here right now.

But there’s nowhere Ignis would rather be. He’s here, and Prompto might as well be the only other person in the room. He’s positively _radiant_ under the glittering lights of the ballroom. His slender body is wrapped so perfectly in the royal blue, like a luscious piece of candy. When the couple moves away, thanking Prompto, Ignis can see the skinny star-printed tie that’s pressed to his chest under the bulky strap of the camera bag. The golden, starry headpiece almost blends in with his platinum blond hair perfectly, and the way his hair is styled is doing a number on Ignis’ delicate constitution. He dares move just a little closer, making sure to weave about the crowd in such a way that he can still see Prompto’s angular face in profile.

Ignis can feel his heart rate double—is Prompto wearing... _eyeliner_? And is that—Astrals, there’s glitter in the soft tufts of his hair, and across his rosy, freckled cheeks. Ignis was fine at the beginning of the night, but now he feels like he’s going to faint. It doesn’t help that Prompto turns, finally, lowering his camera and noticing him.

The smile he gives Ignis is priceless, worth all the gold in Regis’ coffers. Ignis would die and kill for that smile. That it’s directed at him is _too much_ , a gift he doesn’t feel as though he deserves. Before he can scurry away, the angel approaches him, clapping him on the shoulder.

“There you are, man! Wow, get a load of these outfits, huh? This is crazy. I’ve filled up one whole SD card already,” Prompto rambles in the adorable way he’s prone to when he’s anxious beyond belief.

“Prompto, you look...” Ignis’ voice comes out quiet and reverent. He shakes his head. He’s not sure he has words for how Prompto looks right now. Ignis was smitten before, but seeing Prompto all dressed up like this, wrapped in luxury...

“Pffft, I know, right? I look totes ridiculous. I stick out like a chocobo in a rabbit pen.” Prompto’s not looking at Ignis, choosing instead to scan the crowd and just people-watch for a minute while he takes a breath. It’s not that he _doesn’t_ want to look at Ignis, because holy shit is Ignis basically living rent-free in his brain pretty much always and Prompto’s always down to look at Noct’s handsome chamberlain—but Prompto doesn’t want to say something stupid like _I’ve been in love with you for four years now_ or _Hey, how about a quickie in the janitor’s closet?_ He bites his tongue and lets his shoulders droop, clutching his camera like a lifeline.

“...Prompto?”

“Huh?” He blinks, finally turning back to Ignis, looking up into his handsome face and getting lost—as usual—in those sharp emerald eyes. “Didja say somethin’, Iggy?”

Ignis swallows and sets his half-empty glass of champagne on a nearby standing table that’s littered with more of the same. He gestures to the middle of the room, where several couples are engaged in a waltz. “I said, may I have this dance?”

Prompto’s eyes grow big. Ignis is _so_ handsome, and nice, and he can cook, and he knows everything, and he’s good at video games even though he pretends to hate them, and he can fight, and did Prompto mention _handsome_ , like literally sex on legs... “Uh...” Prompto’s brain grinds to a halt—he can feel a few gears popping off. “You...you wanna dance with me...?” Prompto has two left feet. Even with his fucked-up knee, Noctis still manages to beat him at DDR. But the way Ignis is looking at him tells Prompto that the older man isn’t joking. He gulps. “Oh, uh, that’s okay, Iggy—you should find someone you really wanna dance with. You don’t have to go out of your way to make me feel comfortable, ha ha. I should, uh. Probably go take pictures of the buffet table, I don’t have too many of those...” Prompto rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“But I have found someone I really want to dance with.” Ignis lifts a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

Prompto would follow Ignis to the ends of Eos if he asked, so he just dumbly nods and fumbles his camera back into his bag and lets Ignis lead him, not to the dance floor with the other nobles, but outside on the balcony.

Ignis leads, quietly whispering the simple _one-two-three_ back-and-forth square pattern. Prompto hopes that his sweaty hand isn’t turning Ignis off. His other hand is flat against Ignis’ lean, broad chest; and Ignis’ other hand that isn’t holding his is settled gently on the small of Prompto’s back. All Prompto can do is stare up into Ignis’ eyes and try not to step all over the other man’s feet with the designer gold loafers he’s wearing.

Ignis, to his credit, thinks he’s doing remarkably well for holding such a tender and beautiful creature. He whispers softly to Prompto as they dance the simple waltz—the _valsi de fantastica_ , one of the first pieces Ignis ever heard in the opera house across town. Prompto’s staring at him like he’s a god, those gorgeous violet-blue eyes wide with wonder; his plush, pink lips slightly parted, the bob of his Adam’s apple in his slender, pale throat as he swallows nervously. It’s taking every ounce of Ignis’ self-control not to lean down and steal Prompto’s breath for his own.

The song rolls to a stop, and Ignis stills his feet, but keeps his arm around Prompto’s trim waist and his hand locked around Prompto’s slender fingers. Prompto doesn’t say anything, makes no move to break away, mutters no excuse about returning to his task. The silence stretches on, and Ignis can feel his heartbeat in his ears—he begs himself not to blow it.

“Iggy, uh,” Prompto tries, finally. “Listen, man, I’m probably gonna fuck this up but like...” He worries at his lower lip. “Ah, never mind, forget it...” Prompto can feel the hot tears at the corners of his eyes, so he tries to turn out of Ignis’ arms.

But Ignis holds firm. “Prompto,” Ignis says softly. “Please, look at me.”

Prompto holds back a sob and stares up at Ignis again, wearing a sad smile. “This was super great, man. Thanks for the dance. But it’s just reminded me of how much I don’t belong--” _Here, with Noctis, with_ you _,_ Prompto leaves off. “Reminded me of what I can’t have—what I’m...what I’m not supposed to...to want.”

Ignis sucks in a breath, willing to kill almost everyone in the ballroom if it would keep Prompto from crying. He dares to ask, “And what do you want, Prompto?”

Prompto huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “Man, it’s so dumb. Don’t worry about it, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know, and I _shall_ worry about it, until you give me a satisfactory answer.”

“I mean,” Prompto lifts his hand from Ignis’ lapel and gestures up and down. “I want what’s right in front of me.” He sighs. “But it’s not for me, y’know? I’ll always be on the outside. I’m not...I’m just not good enough.”

“Right in front of you...” Ignis can feel his already-quick pulse beat even faster. “Prompto,” he says, finally dropping the younger man’s hand and sliding his own to the side of Prompto’s face, cupping his slender jaw. “What if I told you that I also want what’s right in front of me?” Ignis takes a chance that’s straight out of his most vivid fantasies. He moves his hand closer to Prompto’s mouth and stretches his thumb, rubbing across Prompto’s glossy bottom lip.

Prompto’s brain is running on autopilot. He’s dreaming, he’s _gotta_ be dreaming—maybe he ate a bad h’ors d’oeuvre and is passed out in some random Citadel bathroom. He parts his lips for Ignis, and his horny gremlin brain takes over. Prompto leans forward and sucks Ignis’ thumb down to the joint, closing his lips around it, working his tongue all over the other man’s digit.

Ignis’ breath catches in his throat and he feels his dress slacks suddenly become uncomfortably tight. Prompto’s mouth is warm, wet, and perfect. He’s staring up at Ignis with those baby blues, sucking on his thumb in a way that decries his innocence—and Ignis has never moved so fast in his _life_.

Prompto melts into the kiss, clawing at Ignis’ sport coat, clutching the fabric in his kinky little hands, probably wrinkling it beyond salvation but Prompto can’t be assed to care right now. He moans like a bitch in heat into Ignis’ more practiced mouth, feeling his whole body combust from the inside out. He’s too hot, and Ignis is kissing him like it’s art. Ignis has pulled their bodies flush, even closer than when they were dancing, and he can feel Prompto’s half-hard length straining against his own. He barely manages to bring himself back to logic and reason, pulling away, keeping close enough to rest his forehead on Prompto’s.

“Iggy,” Prompto chokes. “I...”

“It’s all right, love,” says Ignis, feeling lighter than air.

“I didn’t think you felt the same, I tried so hard to just be your friend but you’re so...” Prompto chuckles pathetically. “I never had a chance, dude.”

“I could say the same,” Ignis whispers. “Seeing you here tonight, in this suit...Oh Prompto, you’re the brightest star in the whole bloody galaxy.”

“Shit, you really know how to get a guy worked up,” Prompto giggles. “I, uh. I’m pretty sure these tight pants aren’t hiding anything.”

Ignis clicks his tongue. “How unfortunate for me,” he murmurs. “I’d love nothing more than to see you come apart underneath my touch.”

Prompto gasps and squints his eyes. “Man, you gotta stop talking, I’ll come untouched if you keep it up. And then the headlines won’t be about this royal gala, it’ll be about the dweeb who creamed his pants.”

Ignis snorts. “Well, we can’t have that, can we now? Although, I should very much like to see just how far I can push you with my words.”

“Wouldn’t take much,” Prompto coughs. “I’m, uh, usually on a hair trigger around you anyway.”

“Oh?” Ignis feels light-headed. He had no idea that Prompto returned his feelings. He feels so powerful right now, so on top of the world. He has everything he ever wanted, right here and now. Ignis wills himself to calm down, standing up to full height and finally putting some space between their bodies.

Prompto throws his head back and exhales loudly, shaking his arms and wiping his hands on his pants. “Okay,” he says, facing Ignis again, smiling. “Ready to go take more pictures, I guess. Uh. Great chat.”

“Quite,” says Ignis, returning his grin. “Promise me you’ll stick around until the gala has concluded?”

“Well, yeah, duh,” says Prompto, winking. “There’s this super hot guy who asked me to be the photographer for this stupid thing, so I gotta surrender all my SD cards.”

“Hm,” says Ignis, bending down to kiss Prompto’s forehead. “I look forward to collecting what’s mine, then.”

Prompto gulps. He gets a feeling that Ignis is definitely _not_ talking about the memory cards for his camera. He watches Ignis saunter back into the ballroom and toward another stuffy-looking noble. Prompto exhales loudly as he digs his camera from the bag at his hip and follows, silently wishing he could fast-forward through the long night. 

But Prompto keeps Ignis in his peripheral vision for the duration of the evening, blushing furiously when Ignis crooks a long finger at him once everyone has left—and Prompto follows Ignis upstairs to his office and surrenders. 


End file.
